


Flightless Birds In the Snow

by Gracefully



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, angel!eugene roe, angels!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracefully/pseuds/Gracefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where angels walk among humans, Babe Heffron is drawn to Eugene Roe.<br/>-<br/>Basically: angel!eugene</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flightless Birds In the Snow

The first time Babe sees Doc heal someone is in boot camp, when a soldier turns his ankle during a training exercise. The man lay on the ground, clutching his foot and grimacing. Their commander was yelling at the man to keep going, but Roe, as he was known then, was a little ways ahead. When he heard the man call out in pain, he turned back. His wings, which were curled against his back as they almost always were, unfolded a little as he jogged back, kneeling before the man. Babe stood still where he was, curious. Roe asked quietly, “Is it okay if I touch you? My healing works better that way.”

The man nodded dumbly, mouth falling open. Roe reached out and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. His eyes slipped closed just as they began to glow a soft blue. The man gasped and fidgeted, but it was over in a second. Roe lifted his hand off and opened his eyes slowly, the blue glow fading to reveal blue eyes. He stood slowly, reshuffling his wings so that they folded behind him easily.

The spectacle had attracted a small crowd, and their commander ordered them back into formation. Babe began jogging again, eyes still on Roe. The angel was acting like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just healed a man with a touch.

He wasn’t the only angel in the company, hell, Winters was an angel. Paratroops had a way of attracting angels.  Angels liked doing what they did best, anyway: being in the clouds. However, Roe was the only medic who was also an angel, he was the one that showed the least affinity for fighting and the most affinity for healing.

As all the soldiers geared up for the big jump, Babe could see Roe mouthing the words to some prayer as he clipped on his pack. Babe couldn’t help laughing a bit. It figured that an angel would be religious.

Babe didn’t see Roe during Normandy, however, he did see him afterward. Roe was perched on the edge of a wall fragment, eating an apple and staring at his bloodied hands. As Babe walked past, he noticed that the tips of Roe’s wings were singed. Acting on an impulse, Babe jumps up on to the wall, sitting next to him. “How was the drop for you?” he asks.

Roe startles slightly when Babe speaks, as if he had just noticed the man beside him. He shrugs, ducking his head. “It was fine, I guess. I don’t have to carry any chutes, so I felt as light as a feather.” he crunches into his apple as Babe nods.

“Does, uh, does that hurt?” Babe asks, pointing to one of Roe’s singed feathers.

Roe swallows, shaking his head. “It’s like burned hair, it just smells bad. Didn’t burn my flesh, if that’s what you’re wondering.” he pauses for a moment, chewing on his lip. “As I was going down, I, um. I saw another angel, someone from Fox company, I think, get his wings lit on fire. He fell like a rock.”

“Like Icarus, more like.” Babe pipes in.

“Who?” Roe askes, turning slightly towards Babe.

“Oh, come on. You of all people should know about Icarus.” Roe’s face stayes blank, and he shakes his head. Babe sighs. “He’s one of the most famous Ancient Greek myths. So he and his father, Daedalus, are locked in a prison, and Daedalus makes these wings for them so that they can fly away. But before they fly away, he tells Icarus that no matter what, he can’t fly too close to the sun, because then he’ll burn.

“So they make the escape, but sure enough, Icarus doesn’t listen to his dad, and he flies too close to the sun. His wings either catch on fire, or the wax that holds the feathers on melts, and his wings fall apart, depending on who you ask.”

Roe’s face is rapt with attention. “That’s a good story. Highlights the folly of man, I guess.” Roe says, taking another bite of his apple. After a moment, he seems to consider something. “Have you eaten yet?” he asks.

Babe shakes his head. “I can scrounge up something.”

Roe offers the remainder of his apple to Babe. “Here, you can finish this, if you want.” Babe takes it with a small thank you, and Roe hops down off of the wall. With a half-hearted salute and a small smile, he wanders off towards the med station.

 

Roe heals Babe for the first time when Babe splits open his shin during battle. He can see a fragment of bone and he screams for a medic, not really believing what he’s seeing. A moment later, Roe slides next to him, already reaching. He doesn’t close his eyes, but babe has to because it’s so damn bright. His hand lands on Babe’s shoulder, and it feels like Babe’s leg is the static on TV, fiery and tingly. Babe can feel his skin stitching back together, and boy is that an odd feeling. Gene’s hand leaves his shoulder and Babe blinks, the angel already running to the next man in pain.

 

Babe didn’t get a chance to really talk to Roe, or Gene, as he soon became called, until Bastogne. They land in the forest and Gene’s feathers ruffle immediately, his wings shuffling around to shield himself. Babe had noticed that when Gene was cold he would do that; use his wings as a source of heat. He ducked into them, usually, like one ducked into the collar of their jacket.

One man makes a snow angel comment to Gene, grinning and nudging his wing. Gene stares at him until the man’s smile slips from his face and he slinks away. Babe feels sorry for Gene and at the same time realizes how strong the man really is.

They dig in and before long, they start looking out for one another. Gene heals as many wounds as he can, the bright blue of what Babe soon knows as his Grace a muted color in the gray wasteland that is Bastogne. Everything seems to be muted in Bastogne, except for blood. It is bright and pulsating and alive, the only thing in the place that is awake and vibrant. Men slip inside themselves and can’t come out; Gene sends them off the line with a reassuring touch on their back.

Julian dies and Babe is reeling, wishing with all of his might that angels can wake the dead. He spends the night in Ralph and Gene’s foxhole, but Gene tucks his wings in while they sleep, and is gone before Babe wakes up.

Babe notices the circles around Gene’s eyes deepening, the darkness spreading. His wings, which are dark brown and used to shimmer in the sunlight, are suddenly dark and constantly dusted with snow. He sees Gene sitting a ways away from everyone, wings pulled all the way around himself, like a blanket. Babe gets a second cup of soup and brings it over to Gene, holding it out for him. Gene blinks, slowly coming out of whatever daze he was in. His wings shift, opening up his front enough for him to reach out and take the cup from Babe. He tries to smile, but it looks pained and a little stressed. Babe feels his heart constrict a little, and sits beside Gene.

They don’t speak at all, mostly because they don’t have to, and eat their soup in silence. After the meal, Gene thanks him quietly, and ruffles his hair as he gets up. It’s the most affection Babe has seen Gene give anyone, ever, and it shocks him a little. He watches Gene walk away, seeing the slashes in his jacket that allow for his wings to be out. Somehow, he had never noticed those before.

Gene comes back from the town haunted. He doesn’t talk about it, and he hesitates as he bandages Babe’s hand. “Now, I can’t heal this all the way.” he says in his quiet, pained voice. “My Grace is...low right now. I wish I could heal you all the way.” his voice gets bitter, a hint of anger at the last part. It occurs to Babe that Gene might care for him more than he initially thought.

“That’s okay.” Babe says, because what do you say to something like that? Gene finishes bandaging Babe’s hand and lays his hand on Babe’s shoulder, eyes slipping closed. Only a flicker of light escapes from between his eyelids. Babe feels a tingle in his palm, but not much else. Gene frowns and opens his eyes. Without speaking, he presses his palm to the back of Babe’s hand, and closes his eyes again.

This time, Babe feels the tingle a little stronger, but it’s nothing like the burn of static that accompanies a normal healing. The line between Gene’s eyebrows deepens, and he asks, wiping his hands on his pants, “May I?”

Babe has no idea what he means, but he nods anyway. Gene reaches out and places his palm on Babe’s palm, twining their fingers together. It hurts a little, because Gene is holding on tight, and Babe inhales sharply. Gene tilts his head back and closes his eyes. Babe feels the tingle, the static beginning. It’s excruciating, but it doesn’t feel...bad, exactly. Just odd. It takes a while, and when Gene’s head jerks back up, eyes shooting open, Babe can see beads of sweat across his forehead. “Sorry,” Gene breathes, wiping his forehead with his free hand.

Babe can feel, somehow, that his wound is entirely healed. “You didn’t have to do that, Gene, but thank you.”

“No, Babe, I think I did.” Gene breathes. Babe registers that Gene called him Babe, then he registers that Gene is shaking. They’re still holding hands, and Babe brings his other hand up to warm up Gene’s hand. “You’re shaking,” he says, concerned.

“It’s nothing,” Gene says. But he looks paler than normal to Babe, who shuts his mouth and stays quiet. They forget to let go of their hands.

After a minute, Babe smiles a little. “Hey Gene. You called me Babe.”

“I did? When?”

“Just now.”

Gene regards Babe for a moment, before a small smile creeps onto his face. “I guess I did, Babe.”

“Babe,” Babe imitates Gene’s deeper voice, pulling a face.

“Watch the goddamn line, Heffron.” Gene says, but he’s still smiling. Babe grins, turning his attention back to the line, Gene’s hand still in his.

 

One night, Babe is cold and lonely and doesn’t trust himself alone in his foxhole with a gun. Instead of waiting it out, he crawls away from the guys and rises, creeping in the mist until he finds Gene’s foxhole. He slips inside, pulling the tarp back over the top. Gene wakes instantly, slowly blinking at Babe. It occurs to Babe that maybe Gene wasn’t asleep, only resting his eyes. “Babe?” he asks, his voice sleepy and deeper than usual. He’s quiet and still, like the snow outside.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Babe says, sliding over to Gene. “Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” he asks.

“You’re always welcome.” Gene says, resting his head back against the wall.

Babe then surprises himself by scooting down and wrapping his arms around Gene’s waist. Gene looks surprised, but he lifts his arm and lets Babe readjust himself. “I hope this is okay,” Babe says into Gene’s jacket.

“One second,” Gene says, leaning forward. There’s a rush of air, and then Gene leans back again. His wings come up around them both, circling in. Gene takes off Babe’s helmet and sets it aside, threading a hand through Babe’s hair. Gene’s hand in Babe’s hair makes him feel more complete, somehow. For a second, Babe has the thought that he should sit up and kiss Gene, but he quickly pushes that thought away, deciding not to look the gift horse in the mouth. Gene leaves his hand in Babe’s hair as they drift off, images of snow and wings filling Babe’s mind.

 

“Your Grace, is it something that you can recharge?” Babe asks one day.

Gene considers for a moment. “Emotion. Heavy emotion aimed directly at me, especially with touch involved, that can recharge my Grace. It helps if it’s positive emotion.”

Babe nods, but Gene isn’t entirely done talking. “My grandma, when she would hug me, I could feel my Grace react to that. She loved me so, so much.” a small smile is on his lips.

Babe can’t help smiling a little too. “Do you ever…” he asks, but then backs out.

“Do you ever…?” Gene prompts, raising an eyebrow.

“Aw hell. This will sound stupid, but,” Babe can feel his cheeks heating already. “Do you ever get your Grace recharged through us? The guys, I mean.”

Gene looks surprised. “Yeah, actually.” Then it’s his turn to look embarrassed. “Being around you, it uh, usually recharges my Grace.”

Babe feels a kind of fluttering in his chest he hasn’t felt since Flora Lawson asked him to dance at the high school prom. Gene ducks his head, scratching his neck.

Babe decides to take the whole thing lightly. “Oh, I see.” he says, jokingly. “You only want me for my positive emotion.” Gene cracks a smile, pulling Babe closer by the sleeve of his jacket.

“Oh, I want you for more than that. I want you for you, Babe.” And the way he says it so easily, Gene, who distances himself from everyone, makes Babe feel all fluttery again. He feels like goddamn kissing Gene, or maybe even holding his hand. Instead, he sticks his hands in his pockets before a call for a medic has Gene running away, ruffling Babe’s hair as he leaves.

 

Somehow, they make it out of Bastogne alive. They sit on the truck, leaning against each other, each staring out into space. They both carry enough scars, both mental and physical, for the both of them, and they can both sense that. Gene’s wing circles Babe protectively, while his hands nervously pick at each other in his lap. Babe notices a stray feather in his lap, and picks it up. It’s the same shade as Gene’s hair, with the same shimmer. He tucks it into his pocket, like he would a keepsake. Gene’s eyes follow his movement, but he says nothing.

Later, on the ride, Gene falls asleep on Babe’s shoulder. The whole company gives him his quiet, the man deserves it more than anyone else. Babe simply pulls his arm out and slings it over Gene’s shoulders. He tries not to lean back on Gene’s wing, so as not to hurt him. Through their contact, he tries to send as much positive emotion he can muster towards Gene, as if that will rejuvenate his spirit as well.

 

Hagenau is awful. Gene and Babe share quarters as often as they can, finding comfort in simply falling asleep next to each other. Gene’s wings seem to droop more often, as if holding them against his back is too much work for Gene. Babe aches for him, especially when he loses people.

Gene goes flying sometimes, climbing to the tops of buildings for extra leverage before he jumps off. It’s dangerous, and Babe hates to see him flying up in the clouds when the enemy could so easily shoot him down. And sure enough, that’s what happens.

Babe is walking down the road when he sees Gene coming in for a fast landing. A very fast landing, he can tell. Gene lands hard, rolling painfully. Babe can see the pain distorting his face and he runs over, panic mounting in his chest. “Gene!” he calls, just before he sees the dark blood pooling in his upper wing. Gene sits up, gingerly, and he looks relieved when he sees Babe.

“Get me inside,” Gene grits out, stumbling to his feet. Babe takes up the side that’s not injured, slinging Gene’s arm around his neck. He drags him to safety, kicking open the door to one of the barracks. Men are off-duty, sprawled on their beds. They look up when Babe and Gene come through the door, jumping to their feet.

“Jesus, Doc, what happened?” One man asks as Babe sets Gene down in a chair, sitting backwards so that his wings can spread out fully.

“Out.” Babe orders, quietly at first, before saying it again louder. “Everyone out!” the men blink, but do what he says. Babe hears a noise of pain and looks over to see Gene trying to take off the first of his many layers. “Here, let me,” Babe says, coming to stand before him.

 _Thank God for angel-specific jackets_ Babe thinks. Luckily, Gene’s coats are made with zippers down the sides, so that they can be easily taken on and off. He unzips the jacket and lifts it over Gene’s head, taking off his helmet and setting it aside. Gene is wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath, which would normally jostle the wings to take off. Instead of doing that, Babe takes out his knife and carefully cuts a large slit in the fabric, so that it too can be taken off easily. Gene motions him to stop when Babe gets to the tank top Gene has on underneath.

Gene twists, trying to get a good view of his wing. He reaches out, face twisting in pain as he reaches into the wound with his fingers, digging out the bullet. Babe sees how his other hand is clenching the chair, and rests his hand on top of it in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. The bullet drops to the ground after a moment, and Gene’s eyes slip closed as he begins to heal his wound. The going is slow, and when Gene’s hand falls, Babe looks up. The wound is still bleeding freely, only a fraction smaller. Gene looks at Babe, their eyes meeting. Gene’s are still glowing lightly. He looks...scared. “My Grace is too low,” he breathes.

And without thinking, Babe leans forward and smashes his mouth into Gene’s, pushing as much affection for Gene he has at him. Gene leans back, surprised, but after a moment he reciprocates, and Babe suddenly feels that tingly feeling all over, but it feels...better than it does when a wound is being healed. It feels like Babe’s chest is filling up with sunlight, and his body is disintegrating into sparkles. More than anything, he feels...happy. He feels completely satisfied, like nothing could drag him down.

After a moment, Gene breaks away for air, resting his forehead against Babe’s. “You healed me, Babe.” he says, breathless. Babe looks to where the wound is-no, was, and sees that sure enough, the flesh is mended, feathers patching in. Babe laughs, relieved.

“I’m glad I could do that for you.” he meets Gene’s gaze. Gene smiles and picks up Babe’s hand, twining their fingers together. Babe smiles as his adrenaline levels go down, content to simply sit with Gene.

 

That night, they fall asleep curled towards each other in their shared bed. Gene’s wings spill out and over the edge of the bed, and Babe is able to slip into his arms again. It’s a comfort beyond words. They don’t talk about the kiss.

 

The war ends and Austria is a haven without worry. Babe and Gene share a bed still, but they don’t kiss. Sometimes, when Gene thinks Babe is asleep, he’ll press a soft kiss to Babe’s neck or cheek or forehead, depending which is closest. They leave for the States and Babe is unsure where he’ll go to and call home. There’s South Philly, of course, but Gene is and always will be a Louisiana boy. They part at the train station with a hug and exchanged addresses. Babe goes to South Philly and calls it home for a month, before he falls asleep missing Gene one too many times.

He takes the first train to Louisiana, and shows up on Gene’s doorstep, nervous and sweaty. And then Gene answers the door, tan and strong from labor. His hands aren’t bloody and his wings shimmer in the sunlight. Babe smiles and presses him back with his kisses, pushing all of the affection he has for Gene at him. Gene responds by slamming the door shut with his foot and pulling Babe closer. “Took you long enough to get here,” he murmurs.

Babe has no idea where they will end up, but he knows as long as he has his angel, he’s going to be okay.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first installment in my Here There be Angels series. Some possibly upcoming ideas, that incorporate Supernatural-style angel mythology:  
> \- hunter!nixon and angel!winters  
> \- hunter!bill and hunter!babe meet angel!eugene


End file.
